See Through the Haze
by a.panda.promoting.society
Summary: Drabbles. They are the Capitolites, the districts, the people. They are everything and everyone. They are all a story.
1. angel's lullaby

No one but Suzanne Collins owns The Hunger Games trilogy.

These drabbles are by various authors of the forum _Society for the Promotion of Panda Welfare. _This is the forum account for all the stories written, and our first forum story is a set of drabbles (30, to be exact, assuming we ever write 30 in our drabble-writing/drabble-tag thread). They are released in the order they were posted, and should the forum cease writing drabbles, then this won't be updated. :(

(Also, come to the forum if you'd like - Hunger Games fandom.)

Author - angels entwined

Prompt - fly, fly away

Pairing - Mr. Everdeen/Mrs. Everdeen

* * *

_angel's lullaby_

He used to sing with the mockingjays.

He's gone now, she thinks, and even the thought is dull. Some part of her wants to rage and storm at the unfairness of the world, but this isn't in her nature. She is a healer, and she doesn't cause destruction. She doesn't blow up and throw tantrums.

She can see him now, walking through the woods while her oldest daughter hurries along with him. She can see Katniss falling silent and picking at her braids while he lifts his face to the sunlight filtering through the trees.

He sings. He sings so many things, lullabies and folk songs and pretty little melodies he picks up from who-knows-where.

Even the birds fall silent. He has the voice of an angel. The voice of perfection.

(But sometimes, he's more like a bird. Because now he's flown away from her with the mockingjays.)


	2. broken chords

Disclaimer: The Hunger Games trilogy belongs to Suzanne Collins.

Pairing - Madge Undersee/Cato

Prompt - piano

Author - Zoe Alexandra Morrison

* * *

_Broken Chords_

Her fingers attempt to dash across the black and white keys to play the familiar tune, as she cries. Her body is wracked with sobs, and the tears are pouring into her lap. The chords are broken and disjointed. Fitting, she thinks. Broken chords on the piano, broken chords to her heart.

The day of the Victory Tour's stop in foreign to her tongue, because she's never really cared before. It's not a Victory though, she thinks. Ever. The Victors are broken, and the Districts are broken, and she's broken because she lost her best friend and the boy who made the cakes that so delighted her as a child, and played the songs on the piano that so enlightened her as a teen.

And, she stops playing because it just hurts too much. But then large, calloused hands are continuing the song, and when she turns to face the intruder, she's greeted by the sight of a large bulky mass, with a tear-stained shirt. He sits with her and talks with her and teaches her a new, happier, song on the piano.

He promises her that he'll stay. He does.

The chords are broken, but the chords in her heart are being pieced back together.


	3. unfixable by perfection

_Disclaimer - Suzanne Collins owns the Hunger Games trilogy._

_By - angels entwined_

_Pairing - Lavinia/Finnick_

_Prompt - I'll fix you._

* * *

_unfixable by perfection_

_He _is so beautiful and _perfect._ He's _distant _- a far, far away fairy tale prince.

She slips into the room occasionally, getting a glimpse of him on television, poring over a magazine with him on the cover. He's so attractive it can't be real.

She could have had him, but now she hates herself for the thought. Besides, she's an Avox now - a smudge on the supposedly stainless city of flawless citizens. What a load of garbage. She feels clouds of resentment and jealousy well up in her whenever she sees him anywhere - anywhere at all.

_You are nothing, _everyone says. _As if he'd ever care for you._

She clings onto her dreams, because he's just too perfect and sometimes, he might even fix her, her as the broken, lifeless Avox. She'll be able to talk again and have her brother back and get the life she wants.

That won't happen.

Sometimes, it feels like she's been broken too hard, and when her screams wake the night as those in the too-clean lab coats throw questions at her, she knows nothing can fix her.


	4. hold on to the shadows

_Disclaimer - Suzanne Collins owns the Hunger Games trilogy._

_By - it's,gradual,it's,falling (substitute commas for periods/full stops)/Zoe Alexandra Morrison_

_Pairing - Finnick/Johanna_

_Prompt - apocalypse_

* * *

_hold on to the shadows_

Glass is shattering everywhere, and a red-streaked sky stains her vision bloody crimson. And all she knows is _him._

Struggle, fight it all, hold on to the cracked man in your arms. Don't ever let go. Don't ever give in. Don't be scared, it's only just a _dream._

Hold onto the shadows. The shadows that haunt your reality. They loom; dark and threatening and areflectionofyourpast overhead. Don't run in terror. Don't hide from those nightmares, even in broad daylight they are inescapable. But only _ephemeral_. Like the ending.

Everything is ending. But it's quick, happens in the blink of an eye. Losing him would feel like forever. He's the world. The world is ending. Nonono it isn't, you protest.

Oh, yesyesyes it is, the world is screaming as the sun flares, and everything tilts, and the cracked man is finally breaking.

Don't let go of the shadows that still lurk within the destruction.

Never let go.


	5. death is more perfect

_Disclaimer - the Hunger Games trilogy of course belongs to Suzanne Collins. _

_By - angels entwined_

_Pairing - Cashmere/OC_

_Prompt - never perfect_

* * *

_death is more perfect_

She tries so hard to be perfect, with angelic golden curls and _lovely _eyes - to please those who slip into bed with her and appeal to the public. She's District One's pride and joy, and she has to live up to it.

That isn't what he says. She doesn't have to be perfect, he says. She has to be herself.

She always replies, _Tell that to the Capitol._

_That doesn't matter! _He looks torn and anguished, but she ignores him. Him, rough and untidy and in poverty - why does she pay any attention to him? What is his redeeming quality that she's attracted to? He's not even handsome.

No, she has to be perfect.

(Perfection doesn't save her from an ax buried in her chest, and he is forced to look on.

He can't say _I told you so, _but he does know it's too late.)


	6. sometimes you aren't worth it

_Disclaimer - Suzanne Collins owns the Hunger Games trilogy._

_Author - stand in your light/Zoe_

_Pairing - Brutus/Enobaria_

_Prompt - never_

* * *

_sometimes you aren't worth it_

She trains for the Games. Harder, faster, and longer than any of the other girls. It pays off, though. Because, she's better.

He's better too. Not as good as her, she responds, sassy and bold when he tells her that. He just flashes a white grin.

Never.

No, she won't fall for him.

(She does)

Never.

She won't put on a facade of hate.

(She does)

She stops saying never, because sometimes people aren't worth the effort lies take.

(That's what she tells herself)


	7. beauty in the evil

_Disclaimer - do I look like Suzanne Collins to you?_

_by - angels entwined_

_Pairing - Snow/Prim_

_Prompt - roses_

* * *

_beauty in the evil_

He's _horrible, _Prim thinks.

He almost killed her sister, her mother, everyone she loves. Even the cat - no, he can't even leave Buttercup alone! He is an awful man. That's all she can think. _Evil._

She doesn't even understand how someone could have such emptiness in his core.

She sees roses, white and oh-so-pure, haunting her dreams - petals floating in the air. She can hear a ringing laugh, a voice mocking her. She doesn't know if he'd really do that - her perception of him is skewed because she's never met him, but he's still evil.

When she does meet him, she sees the rose tucked in his pocket and nearly screams.

(Roses are pretty. She likes them.

Or she used to.)

He looks at her and seems amused, and he lets the rose fall to the ground as he leaves to see Katniss. _Innocent little Prim, _he seems to say. She picks up the rose.

It's a primrose.

(Katniss isn't the only one he's trying to unnerve.)


	8. blanket of stars

_Disclaimer - Suzanne Collins owns the HG trilogy._

_Author - stand in your light_

_Pairing - Glimmer/Cato_

_Prompt - in the dark_

* * *

_blanket of stars_

Secrets are whispered into gullible ears, and hands explore new areas (the crevices daylight would otherwise conceal).

Darkness is scary and monsters and thingsthathideunderyourbed.

But he seems to make it happiness, and safety, and a blanketofstars that she wishes she could stay under forever.

All stars burn out.

Some too soon, with a flare and a bang. She didn't want it to end like this. Him with a cold knife to her throat and so many things left unsaid. The dark enveloping her&him&hell, and a blanket of stars overhead that is too pretty to be stained with scarlet blood.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. She closes her eyes, his face and the blanketofstars branded and burnt into her eyelids. It doesn't end.

But she feels his presence to her right, and she opens her eyes and he's lying beside her dead. She's sorry too.

The Hovercraft has to pull her off of his body.

She sleeps with the lights on now. She hates the stars, and being in the dark, and men with gold hair and blue eyes. Most of all, she hates herself.


	9. meadow

_Disclaimer - In a parallel universe I'm Suzanne Collins. Not this one._

_Author - irmaida_

_Pairing - Rue/Thresh_

_Prompt - I couldn't save you_

* * *

_Meadow_

The first time, it's Iris.

Iris is his little sister, although no one would know by looking at them. Thresh is large and bulky and muscular, while Iris, five years younger, is tiny and wispy and as thin as a reed. Her face is as bright as the flower she is named for, while his is dark and brooding. Most of the time he can't stand her, honestly-she's clingy, and it seems as if she never stops talking. But in a strange way, they are brother and sister.

Then one day, they are coming home from the market when there is an uproar. A drunken old man has hit a Peacekeeper hard on the head with his cane and is now shouting obscenities towards the Capitol. The man can't be in his right mind, but in Eleven, Peacekeepers don't particularly care. Shots ring out that day, and in the middle of all the chaos, he loses Iris.

When he sees her again, she's in a white coffin-her thin tiny body having been trampled by the crowd.

He couldn't save her.

When he's Reaped for the Hunger Games, his District partner is a girl as small and innocent as Iris, and her name is Rue. They're the same age. They could have been friends, flowers in the same meadow.

He distances himself from her. He's never been very talkative, and he distances himself from everyone, but her especially. He can't let herself get attached. But the girl on fire from Twelve, a girl he knows also has a sister, is stupid (or brave) enough to attach herself to Rue.

That one fateful day, when her face flashes in the sky, all he thinks is that he couldn't save her either.

(And that they could have been flowers in the same meadow.)


	10. shallow memories

_Disclaimer - Nope. I'm not Suzanne Collins._

_Author - angels entwined_

_Character - Lavinia_

_Prompt - feathers_

* * *

_shallow memories_

She remembers hazy days - days of downing gulp after gulp of alcohol, flipping lazily through channels. She drowns in memories all the time because that's all she's got left - a ruined servant with blank eyes in the Capitol.

She remembers smiling on moonlit balconies, chatting animatedly with friends, gossiping about the latest victor, hurrying to get a brand-new surgery, and pillow fights with feathers drifting through the air as one by one, everyone collapses in exhaustion.

She knows you can't get anywhere by remembering, but it's all she's got.

Feathers, moonlight, gossip, alcohol, television.

So shallow.

But she clings onto them tighter than she clings onto life.


	11. brawn and brains aren't everything

_Disclaimer: I'm not Suzanne Collins._

_Author: stand in your light_

_Pairing: Foxface/Thresh_

_Prompt: brawn and brains didn't save either of them_

* * *

brawn and brains aren't everything, but it's all they have

She's smart. Cunning, and manipulative, and alwaysgetswhatshewants. She thinks that's just the markings of a criminal, but people call her "foxy". She doesn't think it's a compliment. Because what are brains against brawn?

He's strong. Big muscles, and brooding, and intimidating. He'd take intelligence any day. People are frightened of him, why? All he wants is a friend.

In the end, it's their strengths (weaknesses) that kill them.

She finds the death berries, and chooses a painless death.

He fights and battles and gives up, because he never was a winner.

Brain

Brawn

Nothing


	12. charm

_Disclaimer - I wish I was Suzanne Collins._

_Author - irmaida_

_Pairing - Finnick/Annie_

_Prompt - crazy is a state of mind_

* * *

Charm

They told her that Annie Cresta was mad, but looking over her, Portia thinks that no, the girl is not. And she remembers, crazy is a state of mind.

That's what he told her, the man with the green eyes. They go to the same academy. Everyone thinks he's crazy because he wants Twelve, and he doesn't really talk to anyone. But no one can deny that the man is a genius-with any design, any theme, any length of cloth. So no one bothers him, simply gossips and spreads rumours that he is crazy behind his back.

But he talked to her, just once, and told her that crazy was a state of mind.

And looking at Annie Cresta, she wonders if Cinna is right. Annie is the first real life person she has worked with. Portia is only a junior stylist, but Annie's real stylist for the Victory Tour recently "came down with a cold," leaving the job to Portia. Portia thinks the real reason he abandoned the job was because he didn't want to be associated with "the crazy girl."

But Annie Cresta is obviously not crazy. Absentminded and blank, yes. (She helps the girl into her dress.) Full of treasonous ideas, yes. (The zipper is stuck.) But _not_ (She yanks the zipper up.) crazy. (The girl leans on her as she helps her into the heels.) She was polite and kind and loving and-

("There you go," she says. "You're all set for the first District. Go knock them out in the Victory Tour, okay?"

"Is Annie ready?" It's Finnick. And when he sees her, Portia sees the tip of his ears turn red. That's interesting.)

She had completely charmed Finnick Odair.


	13. close to normalcy

_Disclaimer - Hunger Games trilogy belongs to Suzanne Collins._

_Author - angels entwined_

_Pairing - Octavia/Flavius_

_Prompt - post-Mockingjay_

* * *

close to normalcy

He's just another Capitol citizen to her - keeping up with the latest fashions, proud of Katniss' popularity.

Not special, not at all, is he?

But he's her friend (nothing more). They're in this together. Suddenly, her world is blazing brighter than the Capitol because it's fire lighting the nation.

The Capitol is dead. She should be happy, but she's out of place. She has nothing, not the luxury she wanted, because Paylor is reigning and everyone is normal and equal and not spoiled anymore.

But she has Flavius and Venia, and they are important. And she holds onto them in this strange new world, where there's risk and no Capitol and no gossip or Games.

She is closer to them because she has no one else to be close to, and so she follows them into this strange new world. (Close. So close. Perhaps close enough to brush lips with someone?)


	14. concentration (sort of)

_Disclaimer - I am not Suzanne Collins_

_Author - angels entwined_

_Pairing - Cinna/Portia_

_prompt - inspiration_

* * *

concentration (sort of)

He knows everything about designing. It's amazing. He can do just about anything and it's amazing.

She'd admire him, but Portia is not distracted by the wonder of it. She's focusing on her own work, stitching and sketching and flitting from piles of fabric to rows of tools. Portia has to concentrate.

Still, sometimes she has to pause for a second to smile while he talks in his quiet, even voice, discussing ideas so vividly. He's more inspiring than Katniss is - that's what she thinks - because after all, he's the behind-the-scenes person making her so flashy and symbolic, right?

He works quickly with a precise hand, and she's jealous.

("I made this design, isn't it nice?" she'd say, and it's inspired by his own inspiration.)

(He smiles, and nods. Her heart swells, but that's all before she goes back to concentrating.)


	15. stuffed animals

_Disclaimer - the Hunger Games trilogy belongs to Suzanne Collins._

_Author - our little infinity_

_Pairing - Prim/Rory_

_Prompt - stuffed animals_

* * *

Stuffed Animals

You play with the old, tattered stuffed animal. It was your mother's before you, and even though it's silly, you like to cuddle the fraying bear and pretend you are far away from this gloomy place.

xxx

Watching him at school, you smile. Rory is so... lovable. so sweet. He's always there when Gale comes to your house, and you make small talk and laugh with each other.

'He is cute,' Mira's voice breaks your daydreams.

'What are you talking about?' you reply, praying that your cheeks aren't as red as they feel.

She rolls her eyes. 'Come on, Prim, you've been staring at Rory Hawthorne for a couple minutes now.'

'I don't know what you're talking about.' You stand up and walk stiffly away.

xxx

Rory comes to your house one day before the reaping. You sit on the bed together quietly. He puts his hand down on the blanket and it touches yours. You stiffen. 'I'm sorry!' He jerks his hand away. 'I didn't - I mean, I -'

'It's okay. I'm sorry. I was just surprised.' You smile, blushing. All you want to do is kiss him, but that wouldn't be right. He looks up, noticing something. 'You still have a teddy bear?' He grins cheekily.

'Um. Yeah, I guess. I don't know why; it's childish.' You blush even more than you already were.

He laughs. 'No, it's not silly. It's really cute.'

'Uh, thanks.'

The two of you sit in silence for a while and you look out the window, watching it rain.

'Do you know...' Rory's tone turns mischievous. 'Gale is absolutely head over heels for Katniss.'

'What?'

'You can't tell her though. He'd murder me personally.'

'I won't,' you promise.

Suddenly, like a breath held in, he says 'I'm head over heels for you too.' He blushes suddenly, realizing what slipped out. 'I mean - oh damnit. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. oh damn - '

You smile. 'Rory Hawthorne, I just may be in love with you too.'

He looks up, smiling that mischievous smile you love so well. Then, it's a collision of lips and teeth.

He winces. 'That was an elegant first kiss,' He says sarcastically.

'It's your first?' You're surprised.

'Yeah. Why?'

'I just... well, you know.' You blush.

'No, I don't...'

'You're cute, okay?' You're terribly embarrassed, but strangely gleeful at the same time.

'Why thank you,' he winks. 'What about you? Your first?'

You nod.

'Well, I'm surprised for the same reason. now that we know each other's deep dark secrets, I should go. See you later!'

And he's off, acting like nothing happened.

You're kept up all night, remembering that beautiful feeling of his teeth crashing against yours.

xxx

And then the next day, it all is ruined, and it's all your fault. You are is worthless compared to Katniss, and you should be the one dying. It's all your fault.

During that time, you and Rory grow closer. You watch together and he comforts you when things get too brutal. You know what pain Gale must be going through as he watches Katniss and Peeta on the screen. when she comes back, you are overjoyed, but you come crashing down again the next year with the Quarter Quell announcement.

And when you're taken to 13 you're scared.

And when you go in and save those capitolite children, you're not. You know you'll die, and you know that you'll do what's right and you know that Rory - sweet Rory - is okay.


	16. insane is the new normal

_Disclaimer - Get your eyes checked. I'm not Suzanne Collins._

_Author - stand in your light_

_Pairing - Wiress/Annie friendship_

_Prompt - common insanity_

* * *

insane is the new normal

FlightyFlightyFlighty she is. Like a Mockingjay, spreading her wings and soaring far far away. Drifting on a salty, foamy, ocean with her lover. To the place where they cannot be reached.

Red hair that flares like the sun, and big, wide-set green eyes like a child's. That question everything and dream impossible realities.

(Is her insane really bad?)

TickTock TickTock TickTock she says. Time is slipping out of her hands, slick with the blood that should be in her veins, should be keeping her alive. She drowns in her own head. She just wants them to listen! for once.

Plain face, forgettable features. But she's not someone who'll ever be forgotten. She thinks that really, she sparks the revolution somehow.

(Her insanity is normal; as can be)


	17. the taste (and him?)

_Disclaimer: I am not Suzanne Collins_

_Author: angels entwined_

_Pairing: Posy/Peeta_

_Prompt: frosting_

* * *

the taste (and him?)

_Aw, those cakes are so beautiful! _Little Posy would say, clamoring for the slightest taste at the window display of the bakery. The colors and swirls and flickering candles on the birthday ones - oh, it's so sweet. And the frosting, delicate and applied with a graceful hand.

One day, the baker's son (what's his name? Pita?) comes out and smiles, saying, "You can buy those, you know."

Posy stares at the ground, cheeks aflame. "I don't have any money."

Pita blinks and looks pityingly at the small face. He says maybe a taste of frosting wouldn't hurt, then - after all, it won't bankrupt the family. Posy is embarrassed, but she wants to taste that frosting.

She hurries inside, looking for the cake she wants to taste, and her eyes alight on it almost immediately.

It's beautiful, a lovely chocolate cake with thick layers of multicolored frosting that curl around the corners like sparkling ribbons dancing in the air and the imprints of hearts cut into the top. Posy hurries up to it immediately and dips her finger in it before anyone can stop her. (He offered!)

She sticks her finger in her mouth without any regard for sanitation, and she feels flavor flood into her mouth, nothing like she's ever had before. It's sunshine and springtime and happiness condensed into food, it's that toy she cried for in the store, the delicate scent of the rose she saw at the florist's, the mews of the helpless kitten carried in an older girl's arms.

And then the baker's wife (the _witch_) swoops down on her, batting at her with a broom, screaming to get out before Pita can explain. Posy cries and runs out of the store as fast as her legs can carry her, goes home in hysterics.

The next day, she walks by, and the cake isn't there anymore.

She blinks once, twice, and when she sees the baker's son come out, she runs away.


	18. the begging man

_Disclaimer - Suzanne Collins owns the Hunger Games, not me._

_Author - irmaida_

_Pairing - Wiress/Beetee_

_Prompt - the fine line between genius and insanity_

* * *

_The Begging Man_

There is a man, a begging man that sits on a box in District Three, an ugly man with gray matted hair and rags for clothing. Everyday as Beetee goes to school, he will pass by this man.

He often wonders how the man survives. No one ever gives him anything. Most people ignore him; to them a begging man is a splotch on their otherwise very industralised and advanced District. But Beetee notices him.

"Don't look at that man, Beetee," says his mother, a tall thin woman with forever-worried eyes and always trying to get somewhere.

"Why not?" Beetee asks.

"He's sick, insane."

"How would you know?"

"Oh, why does it matter, Beetee? Whatever he is, it's not good for little boys to talk to him. Come along now, you'll make me late for work."

So Beetee never talks to him, only stares from afar and wonders how the man is still alive. Then there is one day when he is coming home from school with a stack of overlarge textbooks when he passes the beggar and sees that someone _is talking to him_.

It's a little girl maybe one year younger than him with wide eyes and large glasses and a schoolbag bulging with books just like his, and she is saying, "Why do you beg? You're so smart you could get any job."

The man shakes his head and closes his eyes, speaking slowly. "I had a brother. He died in the Games. What's the point of working? It's all for the Capitol, and what's the point of helping them?"

Beetee finds himself pausing, trying to hear more of the conversation. But the pair are done talking. The girl gives the man a sandwich and a nickel and then leaves.

As she begins walking away, he catches up to her and taps her on the shoulder. "Why were you talking to him? The beggar? My mother says he's insane."

The girl whirls around and stares at him as if he has just said he is going to dress up in a pink wig and go dancing with a statue. "That man's not insane!" she declares, her wide eyes shining bright with anger. "He's a_ genius_!"

Beetee looks at this girl, this bright-eyed girl, and decides right then and there that she is a genius too. "I'm Beetee," he says, offering his hand.

After a few slow moments, she takes it. And he earns a smile.

"I'm Wiress."


	19. shattered illusions

_Disclaimer - If you believe I'm Suzanne Collins, you are deluding yourself._

_Author - angels entwined_

_Prompt - shattered illusions_

_Pairing - Clove/Glimmer_

* * *

_shattered illusions_

This is Glimmer's prettypretty world, because she's a prettypretty person. She's not naive so much as deluded in her arrogance. Her prettypretty world is a world where she's a victor and married to the boy of her dreams and everyone adores her.

She isn't in this world yet, but she will be.

Or she was, until she met "that girl".

She doesn't mind Cato, who is just another muscular brute from Two, or her idiot of a district partner. But this girl is different. She is unsettling, with eyes like charcoal - eyes with_no life_ in them at all. It's not right. It is not ambition or the thirst for glory that propels her on. She is there for the killing, not the winning, and being willing to lose her life is dangerous.

Glimmer is deluded, but she isn't stupid.

This isn't right. Her perfect prettypretty world is being shattered. It's ugly and bleak now.

(And she proves right.)


	20. it all begins tonight

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games trilogy._

_Author: stand in your light_

_Prompt: starting tonight_

_Character: Haymitch_

* * *

it all begins tonight

He's sitting in the Hovercraft, waiting, watching, _sinking_ deeper deeper into a deep dark abyss, where no one will ever hurt him.

(But it's not really him that he's worried about)

Katniss. Peeta. What happens if things don't go as planned? If he fails one of them, he knows that nothing will ever be the same. They're sort of kind of some sickly twisted dysfunctional family, and Haymitch knows first-hand how hard it can be to lose your family.

Sometimes shush! he resents the two kids for being so oblivious and _sheltered_ from the real world. For complaining and whining and going on about how terrible and unfair their life has been.

Well, their lives are only just beginning.

It all begins tonight. The _revolution_, the time that comes where everyone just has to grow up, and of course, the end of it all.

Because the end really is only the beginning.


	21. breathe

_Disclaimer - I do not own the Hunger Games trilogy. Suzanne Collins does._

_Author - irmaida_

_Pairing - Glimmer/Seneca_

_Prompt - cheating_

* * *

Breathe

It feels like all the air has been knocked out of him. Oh, it hurts; he'd cheated for her, he'd pulled strings for her, making sure she was well equipped in the Games, he had worked hard to make her victorious, he's the reason she's still alive. He had risked his job, his reputation, _his everything_, because she had made it worth it, and now, she has been with another man, playing him like a marionette, cheating on him.

He can't breathe.

Many times she'd made him breathless-the first time he'd seen her, when she'd come out for the interviews in that golden dress, her kisses, her little flirtatious smiles. But this is a different kind of breathless. One that _hurts_. One that _is killing him_. Like one of those giant wrecking balls they use on construction sites has just socked him in the stomach.

(And _he can't breathe_.

So he stops.)


	22. too bright

_Disclaimer: If I owned the Hunger Games trilogy, why would I be writing fanfiction? _

_Author: our little infinity_

_Prompt: too bright_

_Character: any Capitolite_

* * *

too bright

the lights _sparkleflash_

and shine

glowing like the fiery stars that he can't even see

they'll be his stars tonight

{don't tell anyone that he misses the ones from home}

he can't fall asleep, watching the pretty lights from the window

{his fire is better than their light}

he's tired

tired of waiting and watching

and he _knows_


	23. their lost forever

_Disclaimer - I wish I was Suzanne Collins. But I'm not._

_Author - irmaida_

_Pairing - Mr. Mellark/Mrs. Everdeen_

_Prompt - what happened to forever?_

* * *

Their Lost Forever

Today she is getting married to another man.

The skies are blue, and the sun is out. Birds chirp and the scent of flowers fills the sky. The perfect crisp spring day for a wedding. For her wedding with a man named Everdeen.

_What happened to forever?_

He gave her everything he could: a secure, perfect future and as many pastries from the bakery as he could spare. And love, in his own quiet way. But it wasn't enough for her, apparently, because she found a man that could charm birds (and her too) and today, she is marrying him. He got an invitation to the wedding, but he can't come. Won't come, even though technically the bakery is not busy at all and his excuse is completely void.

Instead, he takes a walk around town, a path he used to take with her back when he thought she loved him, trying not to cry. He almost holds the tears in, at least until he reaches the tree.

The tree in her backyard (not literally, but that was what they used to call it), the one they spent lazy summer days under, lazy summer days that felt like forever. The one where they carved their names in: _Adam and Annabel Forever_.

_What happened to forever?_


	24. heart of feathers

_Disclaimer - Suzanne Collins owns the Hunger Games trilogy_

_Author - irmaida_

_Prompt - hard heart_

_Character - Enobaria_

* * *

Heart of Feathers

She stares at the entrance to the training center, wondering if she should go in or not. She's only nine, but tall and muscular for her age with a mindset to match. Besides, most children go into the training center at the age of five, especially kids like her who come from rich families ready for fame and fortune. No, her real issue is that the idea of hurting other children and going into the Games quite terrifies her. It just doesn't seem... right.

"Forget what's right, Enobaria!" she scolds herself, her parents' words ringing in her head. _You've got a heart of feathers, Enobaria. That's not good. One little breeze and _poof_you're done and gone. Gone for good._

So she steps in, and she is thrown into a frenzy of sweat and tears and blood, yelling and mad chaos that it somehow all organized into navigational systems - for those who create it, that is. Her eyes widen as she takes it all in, tries to absorb.

Here are children who equal her, competition that makes her strive for more. There are weapons she's never seen before, even with her father's huge collection. There is so much to do, to learn, to be inspired by. She's in the middle of fighting a simulation of a muttation when the trainer, a tough-looking man named Grant, grabs her and points at the large ring in the middle.

"All right, rookie, I know you can arm wrestle and throw around weapons at targets and simulations. Let's see if you're any good at actual fighting. Hand to hand. And remember, _no mercy_."

Although she's reluctant to get away from her simulations and facing an actual person terrifies her, she agrees.

When she's in the ring - well, one of the _many_ rings - she immediately sizes up her opponent. Because that's what she's supposed to do, right? And she knows this girl. It's Amala, a girl two years younger than her. Enobaria hadn't known that Amala went to the training center. She seems too small for that.

"I just started going today," says the tiny girl shyly, peeking from behind her hair. "I'm a little lost, actually."

Enobaria frowns sympathetically. "Really? I just started going here too! Maybe we can be fr-"

And then Amala is lunging towards her throat, and quicker than she can say _friends _(literally), Amala has her pinned to the ground. Enobaria is so bewildered that she can't react. And by the time she gets her senses and starts to fight back, Amala has already broken Enobaria's nose and possibly a few of her ribs.

The whistle blows.

"That's enough, Amala," says Grant, pulling the two apart. "Good job, Amala." And she sees a secret smile exchanged by the two of them.

Amala stands up and puts her foot on Enobaria's aching ribs. And she looks down at her and sneers. "You've got a lot to learn, softie. Rule number one, get yourself a heart of stone. Pity won't do anything here - or in the Games."

She goes home that day, with not only a bleeding nose and severely bruised ribs, but with a completely hardened heart.

_You'll see, Amala. One day, I'm winning the Games._

Goodbye, heart of feathers.


	25. glowing remains

Disclaimer: No THG ownership.

Character: Cecelia

Prompt: we're closed

Author: ailes du neige

* * *

glowing remains

It starts with ashes.

They meet in the worst kind of messed-up way, but also the best kind of way; like most tragic stories, it started at a funeral. It's a strange one, located in the midst of the Buchart Gardens, where there's poinsettia thrown carelessly to the sides from the last party, hastily replaced by black ornaments. In hindsight, perhaps letting her mother's funeral be planned by a mad woman from the Capitol, who immediately insisted for "more color"; but, gosh, it's a funeral. Cecelia feels as though the party planner is insane, or that could just be her. There's the distant noises that make up the lyrics, muddled up from the tears and the laughs that just are side effects of a funeral, but she's able to make out faint sounds, symphonies of screams that remind her of those old days, the days in the arena. She smiles a little, laughing even more, hyenas attracting unwanted attention before it calms down, turning into a high giggle, one suitable for a funeral.

.

In a way, life is better after the Games.

Today isn't different than any other day, though, not really; it's just a typical Saturday, and life will carry on as though twenty-two people have not been isn't even the right word: brutally massacred, their blood washed away with the rain, their imprints, their whole lives erased; they're nothing anymore. In a way, life has never been good.

.

"—'lo," she coughs, clearing her throat.

His voice is rusty, almost cracking, "Didn't think that you would make it," his tone is easy-going, friendly almost, but she knows differently.

The picnic is in full swing by the time that they had arrived. Cecelia could hear the band playing as she takes his hand in hers, and walks towards the patchwork quilt of colorful blankets and temporary tents, gathered around the trees. It smells like barbecue sauce and, judging by a stain on a white shirt of one the men they pass, it most definitely is.

"I should hate you; you're disgusting," she spits.

He only laughs, "What the bloody 'ell's wrong with me—_uumph."_

Cut off by her lips, he presses his own lips to hers, pushing her against the gym's wall. The morning spun away. From somewhere in her mind, she heard her mother's reprimanding voice, her little sister's shriek of laughter, a person driving by in the distance through the wall. _We're closed, sis. Leave us alone. _All of that seems very far away and disconnected from reality. What feels real is his lips on hers —god, he's kissing her. He's seriously kissing her—, his tongue fighting with hers (she'd always be stronger), and after what feels like eternity, they break apart. They're somewhere else now. Panting, she falls to the floor, slipping at first, her foot and palms sweaty against the freshly cleaned gym floor until she lands on a practice mat.

When they're done, Cecelia stops for a moment, disgusted with herself, disgusted with this sweaty mess (even though it looks as if she has just trained for three consecutive hours), and promptly slaps his face, appreciating the slapping noise that echoes throughout the auditorium. She ponders on whether to stab the knife into his beating heart; after all, two can keep a secret, if one of them is dead. Instead, she sighs.

She extends a hand, picks up the smirking boy on the ground, and quickly throws him behind her bag in a sweeping hip toss, brushing her hands off as she walks out of the training center. There's a boy standing near the front of the training center, obviously a newbie by the look of surprise, confusion, and disgust permanently etched onto his childlike features, but she strides out of the door.


	26. memories that glimmer

No THG ownership. Prompt: Seneca/Glimmer, "preserving memories." Written by angels entwined.

* * *

memories that glimmer

She remembers everything. _Everything. _(She is not a ditzy and forgetful blond, like she seems.)

She remembers the way he breathes, a slow inhale, exhale in the darkness. She remembers his watchful eyes on her. She remembers how he whispered, _Let's keep this forever,_because they really did believe in forever.

She remembers the way he trailed kisses down her neck, throwing away dignity in the middle of the dark. She remembers the way his eyes slide over her, pleased with what they see. She remembers how he tangled the sheets until she felt like she was suffocating.

Glimmer steps onto the platform, her hair curling around her shoulders in just the way he told her he likes. _You belong to me, _he'd said.

Yes, she does. She is a tribute and a Career, and she's playing his Games.

And him. She needs this from him - the brownie points, stacked on top of each other. He's still the Head Gamemaker.

As the platform rises, she thinks, _You own the tributes, but you don't own Glimmer. _She'll always remember that.


	27. never an avox

Prompt: Effie Trinket, mute. No HG ownership.

* * *

never an avox

Effie looks down upon the mute Avoxes - slaves to the Capitol, people who messed up, people who broke the law and paid for it.

_She'll _never become an Avox, because she'll never break the law.

.

Effie Trinket, rebel.

Those words don't work well together. They just don't match. They'll never match.

When Haymitch first proposes it (the nerve of that man, proposing _rebellion_! To _her!_), she slaps him across the face. "Are you insane?"

Haymitch glares at her. She's never seen him more sober as he says, "Listen, Trinket. You're the one that walked into our conversation and asked what it was about. I told you. I invited you. But I wasn't giving you a choice. Now that you know, we're not letting you out of here until you agree to keep our secret."

"B-but that's treasonous! I'll end up as an Avox! Or worse!" She feels her heart fluttering with fear. Effie Trinket, rebel. The words don't work out, even if perhaps just maybe they should, because...

"Only if you don't get caught," says Haymitch with a shrug.

She doesn't know what causes her to say yes. But she does.

.

Effie looks down upon the mute Avoxes - slaves to the Capitol, people who slipped, people who got caught and paid for it.

_She'll _never become an Avox, because she'll never get caught.


	28. grey sparks

Disclaimer - no THG ownership.

Written by - ailes du neige

Prompt - Lyme / victorious

* * *

**grey sparks**

As a part of growing up in a place such as the second district, Lyme soon realizes what must be expected of her **—**victory, and nothing else. Unlike other children, Lyme is not perfect. She sits on the outskirts of a classroom in the middle of the district; unlike the other children, Lyme does not ponder upon when the class bell will ring or whether a poorer boy will ask her to the upcoming town dance; instead, she wonders about the destruction of the world, and about how everything once beautiful has turned so grey.

The world was once made of colors: burning colors, fiery ones; colors were once emotions. They could even portray stories with their sheer brilliance, but now they're like second-hand books (even worse, though, because second-hand books smell like hope). Lyme walks out of the building when the day is done, only smiling once she knows that she's five footsteps away from the only people she's ever loved.

Basically, Lyme is supposed to be a perfect girl.

After all, she shines and smiles and is sugar, spice, and everything that's nice. Or, at least she used to be; now, nobody's even sure what Lyme's done to herself. In a way, she's perfect, but Lyme doesn't _do_ spontaneity. She doesn't deal with surprises; instead, she builds mile-high walls around her so nobody can ever get in. Better safe than sorry. That's probably why none of her relationships ever last. The first time she had a relationship, she caught herself six years into it to ensure that she wouldn't lose control, because falling in love with her first and best friend probably wouldn't have worked.

.

"I think that Rhys likes you," one of her saccharine sweet friends tell her.

She likes him, too. Lyme just knows that emotions would get in the way of success, and after all of these years for working, for attaining perfection, it's too late to stop now and have emotions. She couldn't lose control.

It really could never be quite like that.

.

_Everything is not as it seems, _the people of Panem think. Because even though she's Lyme, and supposed to be everything's that's sweet and nice, everybody has those days, those moments, when they fly into a fit of rage (some more often than others), or tear their hearts out, sobbing to death, or even become delirious on love and happiness.

Lyme is not quite so perfect.

She has control, though, and _for once_, that's really all that matters. She will not lose herself, like her brother lost himself in the Games, forcing herself to do something good, for the good of the nation, because that only led to her sister's death; Lyme will not sacrifice a moment's time in wasting her life with happiness and emotions. No, she will not. She will have control, if not anything else.

.

She remembers the killing, if nothing else, the endless killing and how she resorted to draining the blood for nutrients, the brittle bones for shelter past the acidic rain and torrents of applause. In the end, Lyme is victorious; she just isn't as happy as she thought she would be.


End file.
